


bad lives; good stories

by mikapim



Series: bad lives verse [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Dark Will, Domestic Bliss, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Fluff and Smut, Fluffy but also they're murderers, Growing Old Together, Jealousy, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:34:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24926248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikapim/pseuds/mikapim
Summary: It was Hannibal’s 67th birthday when he told Will that he wanted to open a restaurant.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: bad lives verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1839613
Comments: 23
Kudos: 196





	bad lives; good stories

**Author's Note:**

> content warnings:  
> -canon typical violence, cannibalism, serial killing, very macabre ideas of romance, some smut

It was Hannibal’s 67th birthday when he told Will that he wanted to open a restaurant. 

Will had created a tradition for Hannibal’s birthdays. They would take a train east to Lisbon in order to find a tourist to abduct, Hannibal’s choice. Then they brought him back home and let him loose in the woods surrounding their house, and chased him down and killed him. Every year Will told himself it would be the last time they did it that way- Hannibal seemed to pick younger and more athletic targets every year just to prove that he could still keep up with them. It had started to make Will anxious, but when the day came Will always felt too magnanimous toward Hannibal to deny him anything. Will even helped with the butchering, which he declined to do on every other day of the year. Will considered himself more or less retired, from serial killing and hunting serial killers both. He would kill, out of necessity and out of desire and out of Hannibal’s desire, and he would display, on occasion. Butchering had never been his interest. But Hannibal was a difficult man to shop for, and Will knew there wasn’t a physical gift on Earth that would please him as much as the rare treat of breaking down a human corpse with his husband did, so Will would indulge him. 

It was the twelfth birthday of Hannibal’s they’d celebrated in their Portugal home, a modest cabin in the woods about twenty minutes from a small coastal town. It was certainly the longest they had lived in one place (long enough for Will to have adopted a dog and then buried her, and then fallen into an uncharacteristic depression as a result- he had woken up one day to find Hannibal wrangling three dogs into the house and telling Will he could have whichever one he wanted. It had been well meaning but bizarre and almost offensive, Will uncertain why he had to explain to a trained psychiatrist that getting a replacement for his dead dog wasn’t necessarily helpful- but then Will had looked at the dogs’ excited faces, and Hannibal’s uncertain, lost face, and tentatively asked if he could keep all three. Hannibal had looked pained as he said yes, but said yes he had). 

Their reputation in town was simply that of an older couple with dogs, who mostly kept to themselves but came into town for shopping and the post office and on occasion to bring meals to share with neighbors. They went into Lisbon maybe five or six times a year pardoning hunts- they would see a show or, if there was one Will was interested in and Hannibal could abide, see a movie. To Will, the decade had passed almost worryingly quickly. He fished often, and read, and devoted a fair amount of time to building (or trying to build) near anything either he or Hannibal wanted. Hannibal composed, and drew, and wrote. Together they cooked, and went on long walks, and swam in the lake on their property. They ate every meal together without exception. They had sex and they hunted, both less frequently than they once had, but no less fervently. Mainly, they talked. Will had always been a fan of companionable silence, and while there was plenty of that with Hannibal, he found himself continuously shocked at how they never ran out of things to discuss, or debate, or revel in together. It was, for the most part, from Will’s perspective, peaceful but never boring, a kind of fucked up nirvana. Will had never been so convinced in how far away the concepts of karma and cosmic fairness were. 

Living to old age with Hannibal had seemed impossible once, when things were fresh and much more volatile, especially in regard to each other. But Hannibal was newly 67 and Will was nearing 58 and Will felt farther from death than he had in his entire life, even as he watched the offal fall from a man’s corpse to the covered ground of the basement. He wondered when his mind had finally started to automatically replace the word ‘entrails’ with ‘offal’. 

“I’m older now than my father was when he died,” Will said, plopping a kidney into a steel bowl with a grimace. He wasn’t wearing gloves at Hannibal’s request- Will found it disgusting but he knew he wouldn’t be particularly bothered later, when Hannibal would lick and suck at his fingers until they were clean. 

Hannibal didn’t hesitate in his work. “I passed that milestone many years ago. It felt like a victory, at the time. Does your living well into your 50s surprise you?”

“No. Yes. Maybe not surprise. It makes me feel… nostalgic.” Will laughed a little into the stale air. “I don’t know what for. Maybe I just feel old.”

“I would like to open a restaurant,” Hannibal said, apropos of nothing. “I’ve purchased a building in town.”

Will blinked, thoughts racing to catch up. _I look away for one second_ , he thought, but he hadn’t even done that. He glanced down at the bowls of organs, steadily filling up. “A... restaurant?” 

“Yes,” Hannibal said. “You wouldn’t need participate if you aren’t interested, but I would appreciate help in regard to producing the meat and other, more menial tasks. Checking out customers, perhaps.” 

“Hannibal-” Will started, voice almost catching in his throat. He wasn’t sure what he intended to say, suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of blood. 

Hannibal did stop then, turning away from the body to put a bloody hand on Will’s shoulder. He _was_ wearing gloves. “You don’t have to be involved,” he said, “any more than knowing the source of the meat. I just wanted to let you know.” 

“Okay,” Will said, swallowing down bile despite himself. He’d been eating human meat for a very long time, and felt somewhat embarrassed about his reaction.

“Think about it,” Hannibal said, expression kind, just for Will. Then he returned to the meat. 

***

Will thought about it. He thought about it through dinner, and dessert, and while they shared an intimate but chaste bath. He thought about it all night. Hannibal was sleeping soundly next to him, dreaming- apparently- of being a restaurateur, and Will was wide awake, thinking about it. 

Will’s disinterest in butchering largely extended to his overall attitude about eating human meat. He lived for- and because of- his husband’s cooking, but the fact that it was human he was often eating meant relatively little to him. He wasn’t pleased by the idea of the strangers and near-friends of the town being fed man without their knowledge. He understood why Hannibal liked it, the way he understood everything Hannibal liked, but it seemed like it would be another thing that Will would have to allow him without fully appreciating for himself. Will would be fine with that, except for the fact that, despite Hannibal’s reassurances, Will absolutely _would_ be involved. 

In order to get enough meat for a restaurant, they would likely need to up their count. Hannibal would at least. More travel, more risk. Will wouldn’t kill on the basis of rudeness, more than anything else because he wasn’t a hypocrite. But he did kill, and on most occasions he and Hannibal could find something to agree on. It was the risk, then, Will realized, that was bothering him. Starting a cannibalism kitchen was Baltimore levels of risky, and it would have been fine years ago, but they had the dogs to worry about, and the house. But Hannibal hadn’t asked Will’s permission- if Will said no, Hannibal would do it anyway. If Will asked, however, said please and tugged at Hannibal’s arm and said he was scared of losing their life here, _Hannibal please, I don’t want to have to leave our home-_ If Will resorted to that, then Hannibal would let it go. Will would need to offer up something in return, come up with something else to entertain Hannibal for the time being, but historically he was good at that. 

But Will found the latter idea distasteful and, more importantly, dishonest. He did like their life in their little cabin, but he couldn't deny something in him thrilled at the idea of slipping back into their transitory lifestyle, when Hannibal had shown him beautiful places and taught him awful things. Portugal hadn’t meant to be forever, after all. Will thought of how he would be the only other person in the world who would know how that meat had gotten to the table. He thought of how, in the scheme of things, compared to so many of Hannibal’s other impulses, it wasn’t that bad- hell, it was nearly whimsical. He thought of Hannibal, in an apron with his sleeves folded up to his elbows, the spark in his eyes as he fed an entire town his favorite meat. Will had a dizzy memory of Hannibal arm deep in a man in the back of an ambulance, a long, long time ago, and it sent a surprising jolt to his groin. 

Will groaned, mostly out of resignation. He woke Hannibal up, shaking him ungently. It was nearly 4 am. He didn’t tell Hannibal right away- instead he fingered himself while Hannibal held him in his lap, suddenly wide awake and with his teeth set on Will’s collarbone. 

“I want it,” Will said, and he meant Hannibal’s cock, and Hannibal’s love, and Hannibal’s bare hand around his heart, and he meant the restaurant, and the murder, and the meat. 

Hannibal growled in the back of his throat, turning them both over and pushing Will into the mattress. He fucked him hard, with one hand on Will’s hip and the other tight in his hair. Will had had this so many times, and still felt like it was an experience unlike any other. Will found it always felt like more than just sex, a notion brutally truthful despite being saccharine. Will thought that it might be because Hannibal being inside Will- or Will being inside Hannibal- in this way was the closest they would ever come to actually binding themselves together. Will had the mental image of each of their bodies unzipping and then rezipping together like sleeping bags. The idea made him giggle, a little, and in response Hannibal flipped him over onto his stomach and re-entered him hard, a brutal thrust that made Will jerk and grab the headboard. Hannibal’s breath was hot in his ear, faster than it used to be. Will remembered being fascinated and disturbed at how Hannibal used to be able to fuck him with his heart rate barely hitting 80 bpm. Real serial killer shit. That wasn’t the case anymore- Will could feel Hannibal’s heartbeat against his back, and it was racing. Will wondered if Hannibal loved him more than he used to, or if it was just another consequence of age. 

Hannibal finished inside him. He ate Will out until he came against the sheets, and then kept going until tears smarted in Will’s eyes. They cleaned up perfunctorily and Hannibal went to let the dogs out, and then brought them both mugs of coffee. Will drank his but stayed curled up in bed anyway. Hannibal’s hand was soothing in his hair while he read the news on his phone. Will didn’t read the news much anymore. If something was interesting, or important, Hannibal would tell him. Even as the sun rose and lit their bedroom periwinkle blue, Will stayed resting. He had nowhere else he’d rather be.

***

Hannibal refused to give the restaurant a name, which Will found extraordinarily pretentious at first. The locals found it either confusing or cool, dependent on their age. Later on, it dawned on Will that it was mostly, if not entirely, for security reasons and he felt slow for not having realized sooner. No name to type into google, no yelp reviews. They didn’t even officially have hours, or even scheduled days in which they were open- people would notice if Will’s truck was in the parking lot, and word would spread, and soon they would have a full house. Hannibal would cook, and serve, and chat. Will would begrudgingly take money and nod along to comments about how lucky the town was to have them, serving such unique and delightful meals. Will was not suited for the food service industry, and found himself completely exhausted by the time Hannibal would finally escort the last guest out. Then there was dishwashing, and storing anything uneaten, and closing up. 

Hannibal seemed pleased by it, though not to the same degree Will thought he would have been. At times Hannibal seemed like he genuinely thought he was doing the town a _favor_ , charging them to unknowingly feed on human flesh. The idea honestly still made Will feel a little sick, which likely didn’t help his disposition while working the register. 

They were in the lake one morning, both naked as the day they were born. Will occasionally thought that perhaps things would have been better if he and Hannibal’s souls had existed in prehistoric times. Then they could have murdered and eaten and tranced naked through the woods without the addition of morals and convention restraining them. But then Hannibal wouldn’t have had his art, his opera and paintings and poetry. Maybe just better for Will, then. 

“I want your honest opinion on something,” Hannibal said, and even the wording of the request set Will on edge. Hannibal knew full damn well that Will would be giving his honest opinion. Will didn’t respond, and Hannibal continued. “I am considering hiring staff. For the restaurant.”

Will waded through the lake to where Hannibal was resting, his upper half on the bank. They both got so tan in the summer, and Hannibal’s grey hair even lighter. Will stared until Hannibal looked up, expression sharp despite the general lethargy. “Pet passports, for the dogs,” he said. “Order the dogs pet passports so we don’t have to leave them if we need to get out of the country in a hurry. When they get here, you can hire staff.”

Hannibal smiled and pulled Will toward him. 

***

One of the staff was a bright 20-something with dark, curly hair and striking eyes. Hannibal, always outwardly kind but distant to their employees, took an interest in her. Will was struck by an irrational wave of jealousy- if he were a normal man, and Hannibal a normal man, and their relationship a normal relationship, then he would suspect infidelity. Instead, he suspected Hannibal had found a new protege, which honestly was more annoying. At least an affair wouldn’t risk their being caught, jailed, and separated. Will thought this, and realized it wasn’t the truth for his jealousy at all. He realized, consciously for the first time, that he considered murdering with Hannibal a more intimate act than having sex with him. It didn’t settle well in his gut, and he decided to go fishing. 

Will came home from fishing to find Hannibal in the front yard teaching the girl, Erin, how to butcher a goat. The idea was so viscerally upsetting to Will he briefly wondered if Hannibal _wanted_ him to kill her. He didn’t though- Hannibal had tempted Will into killing before, dozens upon dozens of times in the early days, and whatever was going on with Erin wasn’t that. 

“Hi,” Erin said, seemingly noticing him first, though Will knew Hannibal could smell him and the fish as soon as he’d opened the truck door. Erin was American, and Will found it troublesome, as if he too wasn’t American.

Will nodded in response, going inside to put the cooler down in the kitchen to deal with later and saying hello to the dogs before returning to the porch. He watched as Hannibal stood behind Erin, guiding the knife over the goat’s flesh, showing her where and how to cut. Will thought of Margot, Abigail, Randall Tier. Troubled people who Hannibal thought he could make less troubled through the prescription of murder. He wondered what Erin’s trouble was. Shitty boyfriend, shitty parents? Maybe just boredom. She was a smart girl, and could make fun trouble for herself with murder, if she had the interest. Will wondered if propensity for murder was something Hannibal had smelt on him, and the others. He thought that it’s more likely that everyone was simply one Hannibal Lecter away from being convinced murder would be a good solution to any problem. 

Hannibal convinced Will to help him pack and store the meat that hadn’t been portioned for dinner or for Erin to take home herself. Meanwhile Hannibal let Erin loose in the kitchen. Will didn’t particularly like seeing other people in their cabin at all, but found seeing someone at home in their kitchen made him furious. Once the meat was packed away, Will backed Hannibal into the side of one of the freezers in the basement and opened the top of his shirt. He bit at his chest and shoulders and neck. It was a claiming as much as a punishment. Hannibal was silent, loose-limbed and smug. Will wanted to slap him. 

They eventually made it back upstairs to have dinner with Erin. She made kebabs, and they were very good. 

Hannibal told her so; Will remained silent. She wasn't dull, and Will wasn’t being subtle. 

“I really appreciate your husband teaching me how to butcher,” Erin said, directly to Will. “I’m very interested in knowing how to prepare my own meat.” There was a note of reassurance in her voice, and Will didn’t know how to tell her that that’s exactly what he was afraid of. 

Erin left, and Hannibal and Will retired to their twin chairs in front of the fireplace, dogs settled for bed in the room that was ostensibly Will’s office but was more or less the dogs’ own bedroom. Hannibal drank tea, and Will drank whiskey. Hannibal rarely drank beyond wine with dinner anymore, if even that.

Things were tense, and it was making Will terribly anxious. He found himself considering the number of exits in the room, the common objects that could be used as weapons if needed. He tried to stop thinking about such things, and failed.

“Erin’s father was killed,” Hannibal said, faux-casually. “A hit and run. She had no other family in the United States, and was haunted by the memory of her father, so she left.” 

Will hummed, unable to stop himself from thinking of Abigail. She would have been nearing 40, if she had lived. Will found it difficult to picture her as anything but preternaturally 19. He found it difficult to picture her at all- Will had always thought she’d rather looked like him, but he had to wonder if that was even true. He wasn’t really her father after all. Sometimes Will forgot that too, forgot that he hadn’t raised Abigail, hadn’t held her as a baby, had never taught her how to ride a bike or helped her with her homework. Forgot that he hardly knew her at all, when all the years of his life were added up. 

“So?” Will said. 

Hannibal gave him a look over his teacup. “Don’t be sullen, Will.”

“Don’t know why I’d stop now,” Will muttered, downing his glass before setting it on the table, too loud. 

Hannibal tilted his head and crossed his legs at the ankle. Will nearly groaned aloud. 

“I don’t need therapy, Hannibal. I just don’t like you bringing her to our home, prepping her for murder.” 

“Am I neglecting you in some way, Will?”

Will’s breath caught in his throat. Maybe he was out of practice, or maybe he was never as good at detecting his own feelings as he was at detecting others. Suddenly, it was clear, as if he had been given a map to his own brain. Hannibal didn’t exactly hit the nail on the head- he never did, not with Will- but it was close enough to knock a revelation into Will. 

“The restaurant,” Will said. He wasn’t looking at Hannibal but could feel Hannibal’s eyes on him with the same heat he could feel the fire. “The new protege. The... risk taking.”

It took Hannibal a moment, even then. When he finally spoke up, his voice was like stone. “You think I’ve become bored of you.”

“I worry you might become bored of me,” Will corrected quietly. 

Hannibal was on his knees in front of Will in an instant. Will started to protest- the floor was tile, Hannibal’s knees weren't what they used to be- but he shut up when he saw Hannibal’s expression. 

“The idea is obscene to me,” Hannibal said, voice low and deadly serious, staring up at Will. “I should cut out your tongue for even suggesting it.”

“Please don’t,” Will laughed a little, even though he knew it wasn’t a joke. Hannibal was genuinely hurt by what Will said, and Will knew all too well how Hannibal directed his pain. “I would die if I couldn’t taste your cooking anymore. If I couldn’t kiss you properly.” 

Hannibal took both of Will’s hands in his own. “What have I done to make you question my devotion, Will?” 

Will shook his head, pulled one hand from Hannibal’s grasp to put it in his hair. His hair got thinner every year now, but it was still deliriously soft to the touch. “Nothing. Nothing, Hannibal. My fears are not a reflection of you. I have anxieties. They’re not based in fact. Don’t you have anxieties?” 

“Sometimes what we fear most is what we find most impossible,” Hannibal said in response. “At this point in our lives, I cannot fathom you leaving. What it would make me feel, what I would do in response, what would become of me. I used to know. I don’t anymore.”

“I’m not leaving. I’ll never leave.”

“And I will never be bored with you.” 

“Come here,” Will said, sitting up a little, and half dragged Hannibal into his lap. The chair was entirely too small for it, but Hannibal straddled him anyway, breathing in deeply as he smelled Will’s hair and pressed his lips to his temple. 

It was so warm, and Will felt so secure, weighted down by Hannibal’s body. “It’s stupid,” he said, voice a bare whisp of a thing, and then cleared his throat and tried again, “It’s stupid, but I always think- when we die. I want us to be buried together. I want your body on top of mine, even once we’re dead. I can’t stand the idea of our bodies not decomposing together.” Will felt the wetness on Hannibal’s cheeks against his own face. 

“When we’re very, very old, I will do that for you,” Hannibal said, reverent. “When our bodies no longer support us, we will go somewhere beautiful and dig ourselves a grave. I will kill you first. If you wish, I will suffocate you. Then I will die over you. I cannot guarantee anything after our deaths, Will, pardon that our bodies will never be separated. That much, I _can_ promise you.” 

Will found himself struck by monstrous affection. “I look forward to it,” he said. “Now take me to bed.”

They undressed themselves quickly once they arrived in their bedroom (Hannibal had carried him in his arms halfway up the stairs before Will laughed and begged to be set down, worried that their night- and lives- might be cut short. Hannibal had glared at him and dragged him the rest of the way to the bedroom by the wrist, so hard it hurt, but Will hadn’t been able to stop smiling). 

Will laid back on the bed and welcomed Hannibal over him- Hannibal kissed him ferociously, eventually pulling back to bite at his lower lip, his chin, down his chest. He licked at Will’s nipples, his navel, the scar still brilliant across his stomach. Will couldn’t resist the squirm of his hips, even when Hannibal pressed him down into the bed by his tight grasp on Will’s thighs. Hannibal started to run his tongue over Will’s cock, teasing and nowhere near satisfying.

“Hannibal,” he moaned, drawn out, “please, please.”

Hannibal acted as if he couldn’t hear him, continuing his gentle, explorative licking. 

“Hannibal,” Will said again, so loud in the quiet night time. Hannibal looked up, meeting Will’s eyes. His expression was dark and cruel- Will had seen that look in Hannibal’s eyes countless times and he couldn’t stop his whimper. “Please.”

Hannibal gave in, taking Will’s cock completely in his mouth and down his throat in one go. 

Will groaned even louder, once hand going to Hannibal’s hair and one hand going to his own. He pulled in equal measure. It wasn’t long before Will was pulling Hannibal off his cock entirely, forcing his own eyes open. 

“Wanna fuck you,” Will said, slurring. “Want you to ride me.”  
  
“Yes.” Hannibal was already reaching for the nightstand. Will watched, turned on and in love beyond measure, as Hannibal fingered himself while going back to sucking Will’s cock. 

After just a few minutes, Hannibal pulled off again, climbing up so he was situated over Will. Will held his own cock steady as Hannibal sunk onto him, as he sunk into Hannibal, and it was so sickly tight. “You’re amazing,” Will murmured, lost in it. “Love you so much.”

Hannibal leaned over to kiss him while riding his cock, their breaths starting and ending in each other's mouths. Will couldn’t help but touch every part of Hannibal, running over his ass, petting the planes of his face, feeling the tension in his thighs. 

Will pushed himself up to his elbows, gradually slowing Hannibal’s movements so that he could maneuver them so that they were chest to chest. He couldn’t fuck Hannibal as deeply, only able to manage shallow thrusts that made Hannibal whine a noise that Will wouldn’t categorize as human if he heard it in the darkness of the woods. It was slow, and hot, and drenched, and Will felt as if he could barely breathe with the pressure of Hannibal over him. That, more than the tight heat around his cock, made Will desperately need to come. 

He shifted again, so that Hannibal’s cock would be rubbing against the scar on Will’s stomach. Hannibal bit down on Will's lip again, hard enough to break skin, and came almost instantly. Will watched as Hannibal’s expression turned to something delicate, something almost lost, and Will came as well, his cock slipping out of Hannibal’s ass and making a mess on his own thighs. 

“You were created for me,” Hannibal said, unmoving and eyes wild. “As I was created for you.”  
  
“Yes,” Will agreed, desperately. “Yes.”

*** 

Hannibal let Will sleep in until nearly midday, and they had a brunch of brioche and specially ordered cheese and pecans outside on their porch. 

“You said something curious last night,” Hannibal said, once Will had drunk two cups of coffee. “I do not have ‘proteges’. I never have- Randall, Margot, the others. They were a source of entertainment. There was no degree of commitment, as the term you used implies.”  
  
“You’re always committed,” Will said, pouring himself a third cup of coffee, though he knew what Hannibal meant. 

“No degree of attachment then."

“What about Abigail?” Will asked. They talked about Abigail a lot, in the early days after they first had gotten together. Will felt as if he had to, felt that he had to rip every painful ounce of the story out of Hannibal in order to justify being with him. It was torturous. Eventually, they talked about her less. 

“Abigail was something else entirely,” Hannibal said. He still felt it, Will knew, still felt the pain he had caused himself in order to hurt Will. Especially as the years passed, and Abigail and Mischa had begun to blur even more, into one painful all-encompassing sensation of loss. “As you are something else entirely.”

***

As Hannibal’s restaurant-experiment-whatever it was continued, Will became more and more certain that they would eventually be found out, though Hannibal was more charitable to their abilities, or at least more uncharitable to the intelligence of the townsfolk who ate at the restaurant. Will would work himself into a mess from the anxiety of it sometimes, furious at Hannibal and himself for letting them potentially get caught and separated just because of Hannibal’s cruel whims and Will’s inability not to indulge him. 

“Tell me what will happen if we are discovered,” Hannibal whispered in Will’s ear, curling up behind him in bed despite Will’s stiff posture. “Tell me what we will do.”  
  
“We’ll protect ourselves. Our family,” Will said. Hannibal had let him bring the dogs in the bedroom for the night, and they were asleep on a pile of blankets on the floor. “We will disappear into the night. We’ll go somewhere else. Two men and three dogs.”

“Two men and three dogs,” Hannibal agreed, kissing Will’s nape. “We can make a new home. You can build it from the ground up, if you like.”  
  
Will would like that. The idea took hold of him almost immediately, and he could practically feel his stress start to fade away in time with how he had started to fade away into sleep. “Yes,” he agreed. Building a home exactly to his and Hannibal’s specifications. He suddenly, deliriously _wanted_ the restaurant to be found out, so he could get started. 

“A new home. That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?” Hannibal was tired too, his voice slurred and heavily accented. Will felt suffocated by his presence at Will’s back, and it was the most pleasant sensation in the world.  
  
“No,” Will whispered, “That doesn’t sound bad at all.”

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this instead of the next chapter of my wip, please enjoy. 
> 
> title inspired by the car seat headrest song 'sober to death'


End file.
